Pieces of Repair
by LoveStoryMermaid
Summary: Three times the Impala and two old toys have helped Dean work things out a bit.
1. Everybody Loves a Clown

Pieces of Repair

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, not caring that it was probably loud enough that Sam heard it all the way inside of Bobby's. The sentiment was appropriate enough. They'd been at Bobby's for a week, Sam alternating between way too quiet-quiet with that kid was never good-and keeping so close an eye on Dean he was about to go crazy. So being outside with his baby was good, except that she was by no means good. Hell, nothing was good about this. Somehow, in a way that didn't seem sound, he was alive; he listened when docs say they couldn't explain something as this one had; and, it really didn't make sense that he was all but good as new, bruises and all, when Dad was…and Sam was still visibly beat up.

The Colt's gone-the one way they had of icing the damned demon that seemed hell-bent on destroying his family. His baby was a little more than totaled-the one thing he had always, always had-when Sam went to college, when Dad went off an his own hunts-she was the one that countless arguments had begun-and ended-in, she was the one that had harbored nearly every version of a beat-up Winchester possible, she was the one that really, was home; so, he was going to fix her. Dad's dead-the one person next to Sam that he'd done everything for, except… "_I'm so proud of you. I want you to watch out for Sammy. Dean, nothing else matters, hear me. I need you to save Sam or if not, you should kill him."_

At that, Dean went back to surveying the Impala, stopping that thought cold. Right now, what he could deal with was staring right back at him, bent black steel and all. He'd already done a base assessment. The back door and trunk area would have to be completely replaced, as would the engine. The frame itself was in bad shape, but he was willing to take the time anyway to get it properly rigged so as to straighten it back into shape. He'd wanted to try to save the front door; he looked over at the maintenance table he'd set up. Next to all the metal tools was a little green army man; it actually brought a ghost of a smile to his face.

_It had been summer a million years ago and they'd been waiting in the Impala while their Dad went on a quick scout of the area. Dean normally helped, but they hadn't wanted to leave Sammy alone and so that left his Dad all the work and therefore tired when he came back; Sam didn't seem to have any intent on acknowledging that, though. Trying to distract him, Dean had gotten Sam playing with army men while Dean had been helpfully suggesting proper strategic placements and actions for each soldier. _

"_Sarg, we gotta bury in here now," Sam said to one of the green men and before Dean could stop him had jammed the unfortunate soldier so hard into the side door's ashtray it was impossible to get out without mechanical help. Their dad hadn't noticed until a couple days later; when he had, he had just laughed and left it. It had stayed their ever since. _

Unfortunately, that door had ultimately had to be replaced, but Dean was absolutely planning on jamming the guy right back in the new door, already painted and cut to size, leaning across the adjacent car in Bobby's lot. Dean pocketed the little green man- a good memory of a simpler time he'd hold on to for now- and went to ready the door, also grabbing seam sealer and anticorrosion material. Simple work in comparison to all that needed to be done before his baby was ready to tear up the highway again, but maybe simple was what he needed right now. He took his time, focusing on the simple action of applying anticorrosion to the inside of the door and then seam sealer on the outer edges.

After that had set, Dean got to work on putting the door in position and tack welding it into place. Once fitted, Dean registered the amulet around his neck as he reached for the clamps. Sammy had given it to him when they were kids and their Dad had failed to show up for Christmas. At least he had showed up eventually. Dean shook his head, clamping the first spot into place a little harder than necessary and focused instead on securing everything back in place. Slowly, things would be coming together. If only it could go a little faster.

It was a good place to take a break, except he didn't want to take a break; he didn't want to go back inside and face Sam trying to talk everything better. As if on cue, though, with a good bruise still around his eye, Sam came out offering beer and another one of his assessing gazes; Dean almost took back that wish of not wanting Sam-jabber.

"Thanks," he allotted, taking the beer.

Sam nodded. "So how's it going?"

Huh, maybe his little brother had finally gotten it into his head that he was in no mood to talk about anything but the Impala. "It's getting there. Frame's back in place, doors have just been put back on."

"Well, if anyone can get her back."

"I'm your guy," Dean said, tentatively cheerful and resolving that he wouldn't let anything else get to his family, in particular his little brother. If it was the last thing he did, he would save him before he ever…They'd been dependent on each other ever since they were little, ever since they lost…their mom; it had been just another statement of such when Sam had given him that amulet, trust between the two of them to always make it through. He supposed he might take it easier on the kid; he knew he wasn't really being fair; after all, he wasn't the only one who had lost Dad.

Another week went by and Dean was quite pleased with himself. He was sitting in the basically completely restored Impala's driver's seat. It had been a rough week; he'd lost it and actually caused more damage, but the clown hunt had helped-or maybe just the opportunity to screw with Sam like old times- and ultimately, the car was all but back to new. He turned the key in the ignition and instantly noticed the heat wasn't turned off by a resounding rattle that only made him smile. Another small, seemingly out of place, but important in its own way piece of the Impala: the legos he had dropped into the vents on a car ride to another job when they were kids. The memory hurt of his Dad sitting where he was now, but the engine's start had alerted his baby brother who actually walked out with a smile on his face. Everything wasn't okay, Dean wasn't sure if it'd ever be. But, his baby was back and there was still Bobby dealing with the two of them. It was a start and Dean knew that when it came to his family, some things would never change and he'd keep them going.

Dean turned off the engine and got out.

"Wow," Sam said, "That looks better than it did before."

Dean nodded and seemed to survey his work, noting the one other seemingly out of place, but important piece that needed to go back in place. He hadn't forgotten. But, he also wasn't the only one who had work to do or whom had history in the Impala. He let his gaze rest on the lone green army soldier still standing on the now nearly empty maintenance table. "Almost."

"You're kidding me," Sam challenged

"It's not complete without it," Dean answered and then continued, "Now, I think the best strategy here, for the moment, is to get him buried in right…there," he pointed to the front interior ashtray."

Sam shook his head, but obeying and he dug the soldier in. "Yes, colonel."

* * *

AN/Disclaimer: I don't actually know much about cars, just ransacked the internet and car maintenance books. But after the everything that happened at the end of "Blade Runner's", I really wanted to do this. So, if anything regarding the repairs is glaringly incorrect, please feel free to review and bring it to my attention with how to correct it and I will. Reviews in general are welcome. Don't own any of the characters.


	2. Dark Side of the Moon

The Impala was set up outside Bobby's; Dean was surveying everything laid out, making sure he had all he needed: rags, brake fluid, funnel, wrenches, motor oil, oil filter, screwdrivers, and a flashlight. They'd driven to Bobby's, alternating between quick, checking glances, short failed attempts at conversation, silence, and Dean blasting Def Leppard, after Zachariah's latest mess; they hadn't even had time to get to Bobby's front door before he had came out yelling in a frenzy about staying out of trouble and being better at keeping him informed and were they okay before pulling them both into a hug. It hadn't taken him long, though, to realize that they really weren't okay. Far from it and Dean needed to clear his head. He needed something he understood and was familiar with and that was routine in the midst of all the apocalypse crap, the apocalypse that he had started and God had abandoned.

Dean stopped those thoughts there and turned his attention to adding fluid for the brakes. With a little more speed than necessary, he grabbed a rag, wiping the reservoir cap before removing it. He then grabbed the funnel and brake fluid, refilling to an appropriate level. Simple, routine.

Moving on to a little more involved, but by no means not something he wasn't more than capable of handling. Cars, he understood. He went to pull out the oil dipstick, wiping it off first to be sure no hot oil was screwing the readings before dipping it back in. It was more a formality than anything, Dean knew it was time for an oil change, but right now aside from routine, he needed time, otherwise... Joshua had been right, damn it, that God, of all things, had been his last hope-he should have known better- and he didn't know what he'd do now; well, he had his thoughts, but not good ones. So, he'd take all the time he could in the familiarity of tuning up his baby, changing the oil; there, at least, he couldn't go wrong.

Dean was underneath the Impala, arms dirty with some oil from the drain plug he'd failed to move out of the way quickly enough when he heard his name.

"Dean," Cas called.

Taking a breath, Dean seriously considered just staying under the Impala. As it was, he took more time than was needed cleaning off the plug before coming back out. He'd need five minutes to let the oil drain anyway before he could do much else; he supposed he could give the angel that much time.

"What?" he asked shortly, rolling back from under the Impala.

Cas looked at him, confused. "Why are you covered in oil?"

Dean swore to himself, sometimes dealing with Cas was like dealing with a child. Hardly patient, he responded, "Because I'm doing an oil change and things can get messy. That can't be what you wanted me for. No, no, _you_ probably need, what, some other way to find your Daddy? Me to go to Medusa's garden and bring back her head…actually, that might be kind of awesome. But not the point. Whatever it is, sorry, can't help you."

"Dean," Cas begged, looking more lost than he'd seen him before; but Dean wasn't in the mood to care. "I…I wanted to ask you what you thought we should do?"

"What do _I_ think we should do?" Dean cracked, "Are you kidding me? You know what, no, just go. I can't do this right now."

"Dean, you…."

He cut the angel off, "Just go!"

Dean leaned against the maintenance table he had set up after Cas had gone. Cas had the nerve to ask him what to do? If an angel didn't know, how the hell was he supposed to? If an angel didn't believe they could do this, how the hell was he supposed to?! He shook his head, grabbing the oil wrench and working on removing the filter.

A part of him wished Joshua had just let him stay in the garden and sent Sam back. Of course, he didn't think his brother could get it done either, but Bobby would look after him and he'd be alive; Dean didn't have the same wishes for himself; but, so long as that wasn't happening, he'd have to figure out a way to keep going. Currently, ignoring everything else, he wasn't going anywhere without a car, so he went back to work, taking his time in being over-concerned that everything was clean an double checking all fits before installing the new filter and eventually adding in the new oil.

He just didn't feel like he had anyone to lean on. They'd all but killed Jo and Ellen themselves, Cas didn't have any faith, and he couldn't find it in himself to believe in his little brother; Sam's heaven had certainly proven that he didn't need Dean. Dean didn't need anyone either, but he admitted it made it easier. Dean remembered what he had woken up to in heaven: Fourth of July, 1996; he'd nabbed fireworks from a local display to let him and Sammy celebrate while Dad was off on a hunt….and ended up burning down the field. The memory had him halfway between crying and laughing. He wished he could go back to that time. A breath of fresh air would be good. Well, that much, he could sort of give himself. He shook off the memory, but it wasn't long before another came.

He supposed it had been impulsive; there wasn't much good reason to get the dash of the Impala off; air conditioning had been fine and inside the vents were hard to clean, but he had done it anyway, dusting off what he could. Then, when he'd taken a flashlight to examine what he cold, making sure everything still looked good to go, he froze at the sight of two legos, one blue and one yellow. He'd been even younger than the Fourth of July in 1996. They were on their way to another hunt and he'd been trying to block out Sam's million and one questions, playing with them up in the passenger seat; then, they'd hit a bump and the legos had managed to perfectly fly out of his hands and into the vents. You could hear them whenever the heat was on, but the recently they'd been so accustomed to the noise or otherwise preoccupied, he'd almost forgotten they were still there. The flashlight beam fell on the blue one, illuminated up against the dark interior; the lego had gotten dirty over the years, but was still intact, would still hurt like a bitch if you stepped on it. Silly as it may be, he wanted to pull it out and pocket it for strength. But, he didn't. It was a part of the Impala, an old one from a time and version of himself that had gone a long time ago, but one that he knew he would always keep deep inside of it. It didn't go any long stretch to fixing things but, somehow, it helped. Of all things.

Managing the smallest of smiles, Dean had done about all he could there and close up the dash. He'd get around to the tires; right now, his baby might have been filled up, but he was hungry.


	3. Blade Runners

Sam walked with two beers in hand to his best bet of where his brother had gotten to: outside the bunker-instead of being cooped up inside and having to clean up the garage- working on the Impala. Sure enough, walking outside he saw Dean staring furiously at the carved up Impala, surrounded by an electric drill and grinding disc, body file, body filler and cream hardener, primer, and paint. That wasn't surprising. However, the books that were also scattered around were. Dean didn't need any mechanical how-to books; he knew that car inside and out.

Sam frowned before announcing, "Hey. How's it going?"

Dean jumped, having been unsuccessfully trying to forget the most recent events, the feeling of that blade in his hand. It had been powerful; it had been out-of-control; it had been beckoning for more, as Magnus had said; but, it had been bloodthirsty; it had been thrilling, but terrifying; but, he couldn't get the blade out of his head. Hearing Sam rudely and suddenly interrupt his thought process, Dean jerked his hand in a release of the grinder he'd been about to pick up.

"What?" Dean asked somewhat distantly, annoyed that he hadn't been more aware.

"Thought you might want one."

Dean looked up, eyes falling first on the scar Magnus had left on his baby brother's cheek and neck, then on the beer said brother was offering. Dean nodded, "Yeah. Thanks." He paused a second, "You alright?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, it's fine. Um," Sam was currently more concerned with what had happened with Dean and Magnus than him; it wasn't like his brother to be so easily startled and again, the books. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What do you mean? Work…"

"Funny, I was just about to ask your brother the same thing," Crowley appeared, interrupting before Dean could finish his sentence. "Interesting how we seem to be on the same wavelength now, Moose."

Sam spared Crowley a look, but otherwise was keen on ignoring him, talking more to Dean, "That's not…"

Crowley interrupted again, "Ah. I don't care, nor about what problem you two have probably already landed yourselves in this time. Really, you'd think you'd see these things coming by now. No, 'cause right now I have a problem that your brother seems to be erasing a rather important message."

Dean knew Crowley had already gotten the damn message and was in no mood. He asked shortly, "Do you have the blade?"

"Yes," Crowley answered, matter-of-fact, before continuing, "No, you're not getting it, yet."

Impatient, Dean asked, "Does this have anything to do with speeding that up?"

Crowley shrugged, "Well, not dir…"

This time, Dean cut him off, "Then don't tell me what to do with my car!"

"Touchy, touchy," Crowley responded, asking, "Does he always have to be like that?" He didn't wait for an answer before continuing, "I mean, normally, people are a little more respectful of other people's messages."

Sam's patience was running out, with the both of them. "Crowley, what do you what? You know that's not what this is about. So, what is it? Or better yet, just get out."

"Oh dear," Crowley responded, "Moose is angry. Looks like my cue." He turned to Dean once more before disappearing. "I think you missed a few spots."

Biting back a useless retort, Dean noticed the look on his brother's face and answered it. "I'm not on his side."

"Yeah, whatever," Sam shook his head before walking off and taking a few of the books with him.

Dean thought about calling after Sam, but his little brother had never been as good at hiding things as he thought. For now, he'd just start on the beer and touch up his car. Picking the grinder back up and working across the Impala, focusing was harder than he'd thought. It wasn't so much that this job required a lot of focus, but just that was what usually working on his baby granted him. It bothered him that it didn't seem to be working so well this time.

Eventually satisfied that the unseemly message was no longer in existence, he moved to mix the body filler and cream hardener. Spreading it across the length of the Impala, Dean thought about his rules. They didn't really have a lot of them. He recalled the two he had once recited to Sam, "No dogs in the Impala and don't take a joint from anyone by the name of Don." The latter rule always made him smile and actually did the trick this time as well. It had arisen from when Dean was a teenager and had done just that. Worst decision of his teenage life.

_Don had been a biker guy, but with a friendly attitude at a bar, and had offered him a joint. Dean hadn't had one before and was having a crappy night, so he accepted. Don had made it seem like a free offer. Not the case, but also not the beginning of the problem. Don had let him enjoy the ride first-which, really, wasn't all that it was cracked up to be- not realizing, or at least concerning himself, with the fact that he had a father who would be looking for Dean eventually. Sure enough, some time later, that's exactly what Dean figured had happened. He heard later that Don had asked his father for money for the joint only to end up with a black eye. For his part, Dean had ended up with aspirin and a rather stern lecture the next morning as well as a two weeks grounding-which for them meant he didn't have access to his music, wasn't allowed to hunt, and wasn't allowed to drive the Impala or go anywhere without supervision._

Aside from a life lesson learned and keeping him sane, those rules didn't really matter too much. Though, some part of his brain quickly asked if taking on the Mark hadn't been similar to taking the joint. Dean dismissed the thought.

Anyway, he had two more important ones for keeping himself happy: Don't mess with his little brother and don't mess with his baby. Magnus had managed to break both of those. Dean supposed there was a third rule, too: don't be stupid on a hunt. That one had sort of been broken, too; though, if he was honest, he supposed he had at least some part in that.

Well, there was only so much he could do about any of that now though. Sam was fine. Now that the message was gone and the filler dry, it was time to continue fixing his baby. Taking another drink from the now half-empty beer, Dean knocked off any hard and high lumps that had formed in the filler and sanded down the area, then coating it in primer.

Awhile later the beer was long gone and with black paint on his hands, Dean proudly surveyed the freshly painted Impala. Good as new. He was about to pick up when he caught a glimpse of something in her door. A little green army man. He stopped, looked down a moment, and actually smiled. When they'd been kids, Sam had crammed that guy in there while Dad had been out scouting a hunt; it had been successful in distracting Sam from asking a million questions. The little green soldier had finally tasted a moment's freedom when the door had had to come off after the wreck almost ten years ago that had ultimately taken their dad from them, only for Dean to insist that Sam cram it back in. Five years after that crash, Sam had overcome Lucifer and jumped into the Pit; later, Sam had told him, it was seeing that army man coupled with Dean idiotically being there, as always, that had allowed him to be successful. Though never forgotten, sometimes it was easy for Dean to take for granted all that they had been through. They had always been there for each other, and of all things, it was this that reminded him of that. He'd try to keep that-to not push Sam away again- in mind. Maybe, just maybe, that would make all the difference.


End file.
